


When the Bough Breaks

by theshinycrackerjack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshinycrackerjack/pseuds/theshinycrackerjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel misses Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Bough Breaks

I stare at the sky, at the clouds that are whipped wisps in a sea of colors. It looks like someone is bleeding a blood orange dry right there in the sky. The clouds hover and twist—held up like beaten egg whites—and I am reminded of the time Dean tried to teach me how to bake pie. I had stared at the unbeaten eggs in the bowl with great trepidation. I then proceeded to whip them with a fervor that sent Dean into hysterics. I remember it well. The pie ended up hard and practically inedible on the outside. The inside was fairly salvageable, and so Dean and I spent the afternoon eating warm apple-cinnamon pudding. I don’t think that I’ve ever eaten anything quite like it. 

The sky turns impossibly pale—pink and vast. I remember the time we went to the carnival, how the air smelled (like night and giddy sugar). Dean badgered Sam into getting him an obscenely large mound of cotton candy. It was the most shocking shade of pink. I found it rather off-putting, but Dean tore into it with gusto. I still remember the smell of cotton candy on Dean’s laughter—the way his shoulder jostle mine in comfortable camaraderie. I remember it well. Sam insists that we ride the Ferris Wheel, which Dean protests because it’s “for girls on dates.” Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean makes a fuss for another fifteen minutes, but we all end up wedged into the little oscillating box anyways. Even after his vociferous protest, Dean still appears to enjoy it. His nose is practically pressed up against the (slightly dirty) glass. He looks like he’s just rediscovered toy trains—like he’s just won his first baseball game—like he’s just had his first kiss with a girl. He looks awed and bright and so very young. It is fascinating…so much so that I do not blink. 

Nobody says a word, but when we stop at the very top, Sam makes a little noise in the back of his throat. I break away from my trance momentarily. Sam’s brow is furrowed in concentration. His attention is focused solely on me, picking apart the little meanings hidden in my squint, in the way I’m glued to Dean (thigh against thigh), how I lean into him just a little with each sway of the car. 

I break eye-contact and go back to watching Dean. I am not concerned with Sam. He will think what he wishes. This is a moment that I want to store away for a long time. One to bring out on rainy days and chilly nights—some real warmth to bolster the spirit. 

I feel something burst inside me. It happens without an audible sound, without any warning. I was just sitting there, staring at the sky, when it happens. It’s not violent. It’s not overwhelming. It’s not a flood. But as I sit there thinking about Dean and apples and half-beaten egg whites and the smell of the night illuminated bright, I am slowly bathed in the feeling of loss. 

The clouds continue to drift. The sky burns out to black. And I sit there, in a knoll in the middle of a farm in Kansas. I sit and I feel all sorts of emotions that are usually untapped—so many that I cannot name them all. But I know one thing with absolute certainty. Even though I am not human, I feel and mourn and miss.

I miss Dean.


End file.
